


Who Knows Not

by j_quadrifrons



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Objectification, Season 4 Spoilers, Trans Male Character, Virginity Kink, beholding kink, season 1 setting, trans jon sims
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:28:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26202688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_quadrifrons/pseuds/j_quadrifrons
Summary: Jon has started working late, and sleeping in the Archives from time to time. Elias takes advantage of the situation.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 23
Kudos: 245
Collections: Jonelias Week 2020





	Who Knows Not

**Author's Note:**

> He sleeps well who knows not that he sleeps ill.  
> Publius Syrus, Maxim 77.

Really, Elias thinks he's been very patient. But it's been four months, and his new Archivist has yet to take a live statement. More than that, it's been four years since such a delightful prospect simply fell into his lap, and neither Jonah Magnus nor Elias Bouchard have ever been men accustomed to denying themselves the things that they want. So when Peter warns him that his nephew's fiancee has a statement to make, Elias ignores the implicit request and makes sure that Naomi Hearne-almost-Lukas speaks to the Archivist directly.

The results are everything he could have hoped for: the nightmares begin the next night, and in an attempt to fend them off for as long as possible, Jon begins working late most nights. Late enough that he often misses the last train and sleeps on the cot in the climate-controlled document storage room.

Elias doesn't disturb him the first time it happens. He'd hate to scare Jon away from doing it again, and besides, it's important to be sure that sleeping in the Archives themselves will have no ill effects on his budding collection of horrors. And too, perhaps, there is a kind of pleasure in knowing that he can have what he wants whenever he chooses, and he chooses to wait. Like buying a very fine wine and letting it rest before opening it, he thinks, and smiles to himself. There is a reason he has never kept a wine cellar, either.

He goes down to the Archives on the second night. Jon has kicked off his shoes and loosened his tie, but otherwise seems to have fallen directly from his office chair into bed. He doesn't snore, but every now and again he does make a soft noise of distress, like a prey animal that isn't sure if it should cry out for help or keep silent to stay safe. It speaks clearly enough to the Archivist's dreams, but Elias looks anyway, because he can.

He has never seen the Lukas family graveyard, but the scene can be nowhere else. Fog curls lovingly around gravestones abandoned and covered in moss, though their carvings record dates mere decades past. Between them flits a woman, dressed all in black with sensible heels, running for her life -- and behind her, whenever she falls, is the Arhcivist, watching. His eyes are dark and unnaturally wide, and he looks as though he would very much like to look away, to help, to be anywhere but here, but he is the Arhcivist, so all he can do is watch.

Elias blinks his own eyes open and looks down at Jon's sleeping form with a fondness he'd never dare show the man awake. "You'll learn," he says softly, though he is sure now that nothing could possibly wake the Archivist from his nightmares for several hours yet. "You're doing very well already." And then, impulsively, Elias leans down and presses a gentle kiss to his brow. To Elias's amusement, it smooths a little, relaxing. This may yet be more rewarding than even he has anticipated.

Jon's belt and trousers are easy enough to remove; sleeping heavily, he offers no resistance to Elias's efficient manhandling. After a moment's thought, Elias unbuttons his shirt as well, leaving the tie draped loosely around his throat. Beneath that, a thin undershirt is enough to bind his chest to unnoticability, and Elias slides it up with his palms aover Jon's ribcage. Barely a handful, really, but soft to touch and oh so delightful to squeeze. Jon shifts under him when he does so, but settles back down almost immediately.

He lingers there for a moment, bent over the cot with one knee between Jon's thighs, watching the small, unconscious movements and the way Jon's breath speeds up as he kneads at the soft flesh, tugging at his nipples until they're hard between his fingers. But Elias has waited long enough, so he leaves Jon's chest bared to the chill air and runs his hands down Jon's sides again, provoking nothing more than a twitch at a ticklish spot, and tugs away his underwear. 

Elias has known about Jon's transition, of course, but it's one thing to know and quite another to be able to kneel between Jon's spread legs and see that pretty cunt for himself. And it is lovely; soft and vulnerable beneath a neatly trimmed thatch of dark hair. Elias strokes his fingers over the tightly closed lips, relishing the softness of the skin there before dipping in between them. Dry, alas, but the relaxed way his Archivist's legs fall open is promising. Elias raises his fingers to his mouth, breathing in the faint musk as he sucks them deep, wetting them thoroughly before putting them back between Jon's legs. 

He had intended to go no further than this, at least not right away. There is so much he still doesn't know about the Archivist's dreams, especially so early on in the process, and this early, too, he needs Jon to trust him. There is indulgence and then there is imprudence. But his fingers are slick now with more than his own spit, and Jon sleeps on, the hint of a frown between his brows as he follows a grieving not-quite-widow through her own personalized hell. Does he feel, even in the Archivist's dreams, the way his body is reacting? Is he cringing with shame that drinking in this woman's terror is not just satisfying but arousing? Elias lets out a shuddering breath at the thought, but he does not look. Instead he presses in deeper, testing the tight muscle before sliding his middle finger inside. 

Jon thrashes, once, and Elias stops, finger deep inside Jon's cunt and thumb pressed up against his cock -- but it was nothing, or at the very least it passed quickly, and Jon relaxes again, turning his face into the pillow, and his thighs splay wider around Elias's hips, inviting.

He should leave it at this, Elias tells himself, should lick Jon's slick off his fingers and leave before the nightmare ends and Jon is aware of his body again. He should go, he thinks, but he's already unfastening his belt one-handed, the other occupied with working another finger into that tight, slick heat and marveling at how readily Jon opens up for him. 

Elias doesn't know, he realizes, whether or not his Archivist is a virgin. He very much hopes that he is. 

(He could Know, of course, but why risk disappointment when he has everything he wants spread open before him? If he is, it will be just as delicious to find out later, and if not -- well, what's the harm in a little fantasy?)

When Elias slides his fingers out to make room for his cock, Jon makes a sound that could conceivably be interpreted as disappointment. Elias finds himself making soothing sounds as he slowly pushes in, settling in finally with their hips flush together. It's exquisite, almost overwhelming, the heat and pressure and the feeling of Jon's muscles fluttering around the unfamiliar intrusion. He wraps his hands around Jon's hips, tilting them up into a more convenient angle, and stays there a moment, watching Jon sleep, too wrapped up in someone else's horror to be aware of his own. 

His Archivist thinks that he has seen unspeakably terrible things, but he is really still so innocent. Nearly a blank canvas, and one perfectly suited to the work ahead. Elias rocks his hips up into him and Jon takes it, without a flinch or a hesitation. 

It would be foolish to get too attached too soon, really. He doesn't even know yet if Jon's stubborn lack of self-preservation will be enough to carry him through everything he's going to have to suffer. But he has a good feeling about this one. He's had a good feeling about him ever since the nervous young academic walked into his office, pretending to much more confidence than he possessed, and positively dripping with fear of the Web. Jon had looked at him with a fear in those lovely dark eyes that he couldn't disguise, and Elias had known that Gertrude Robinson's days were numbered.

Elias can't help but imagine those dark eyes now, fluttering open beneath him as Elias drives into his body, full of an enticing mixture of confusion and fear and, perhaps, some of the admiration with which he usually regards his employer. It would be disastrous, it would shatter his plans, but oh, it would be --

He hasn't exactly been aware of the way his hips grind into Jon's cock as he fucks him, but apparently that doesn't matter, and the sudden clench of Jon's orgasm takes him by surprise. Elias finds himself braced against the mattress, buried to the hilt, watching Jon's face intently. His lips are parted and his breath is heavy and nearly audible -- Elias thinks that if it had any voice behind it, it might be a whine -- but he still shows no sign of waking. 

"Excellent, Jon," Elias murmurs, close enough that he can feel Jon's breath on his lips. "You're doing wonderfully. He shifts his hips, beginning to thrust again, and there's that whine, barely audible but there. "My perfect Archivist," he croons, "so full of fear and so trusting. And so lovely coming on my cock. I'm sorry you had to wait so long." 

The effort it takes to pull out before he comes is truly monumental, but that would be going too far; he's risked too much already. Elias spills his seed onto Jon's thighs and the soft lips of his cunt, no longer tightly closed but wet and open and well-used, truly a sight to behold. He lingers there a moment longer, gently rubbing a spot of his come into the soft, fragile skin of his Archivist's inner thigh, enjoying the view. It's truly a pity he can't stay here until Jon wakes, to see him struggle back to consciousness and attempt to make sense of his dreams and his situation at once -- but there are more important things than this particular self-indulgence.

He fetches a washcloth from the toiletry kit Jon keeps in his desk drawer and cleans them both up. It is a little more difficult putting Jon back into his clothes than it was taking him out of them -- certainly less enjoyable -- but at the end of ten minutes he looks no different than he did when Elias first arrived. How he'll feel when he wakes is another question. How unfamiliar will it be, to find himself wet and open? Will he be suspicious or horrified -- or frustrated and unsatisfied?

Elias returns to his office, to wait for Jon to wake up, and to watch.


End file.
